Through the Eyes of Time

As I was moving back home from college I did a little cleaning out of my closet and what I found brought joy to my heart. All my favorite books from my childhood and my favorite childhood play things and hobbies. I was reminded of my childhood passion for horses. I had horse paraphernalia coming out of my ears. My activity of choice for long car rides or plane trips was always a horse book. Not just horse stories, mind you, but Dorling Kindersley books on breeds of horses... my definition of edifying literature. Come to think of it, I used to be able to identify all the different breeds of horses in our nearby canyon as we whizzed past in our Toyota Previa. I went on many an adventure with my favorite horse Shasta, through the meadows of my mind and always left room in my future for that to become a reality. To this day I still watch horse movies, not for their cinematic proficiency, but for their childlike mastery and portrayal of the equestrian beauty. As I fondled my plastic horses of all different breeds and I tried hard to remember their names, I reflected back to that little girl to whom those horse adventures meant so much. I thought 19 was so far away, so magical, so grown up. Time however works so differently than I would have ever thought, and I wonder if it’s even weirder than I think it is now and only time will tell. I used to want to be a horse veterinarian till I realized I had an uncanny fear of blood and vomit. James Herriot will forgive me one of these days.
Anyways I stumbled over other things beside my plethora of equestrian accoutrements, I also came across the many books that I had attachments to and thought worthwhile enough to save. I leafed through colorful pages and was shocked at how well intact they were. My parents always instilled an incredible value and care for the things we owned and taught us to be good stewards even from an early age. I had a deeply sensitive conscience and when all my friends would cut their dolls hair or paint their nails, the most I ever did to mar mine from their original fresh-out-of-the-box state was braid my dolls hair and change their clothes. Same with books, book ripping in our house was akin to imagination homicide, intentional ripping never, ever happened and accidental ripping was deeply frowned upon because of its radical carelessness. All that to say, we took very good care of our books. In the book “Letters From Felix” every other page contained an actual letter that went along with the story. I recall my 8 year old self’s deep temptation to take the letters out of the book and play with them as if they were written to me, alas, my conscience was too strong and I left all the letters and the stickers from the back of the book in there my entire childhood.
Beatrix Potter was a classic, Patricia Polocco books and my most favorite book that I got from the tooth fairy, “Princess Lulu Goes to Camp” were some of my most beloved stow-aways tucked in the secrecy of my closet. Such good memories to come home too. Oh I almost forgot “Maybe a Band-Aid Will Help”. I wouldn’t have called my desperate desire for attention as a kid a result of being neglected, but there was the reality that mom and dad couldn’t be all things for all kids at the same time, that’s why this book resonated with me so much. This little girls favorite doll broke and her mother was too busy to fix it, she did everything she could to get her mother to come help her and finally, her mother came. And they lived happily ever after. I liked that story because without fail, in the end, mom will come. Mom might be busy and might have a lot to do, but just be patient, she will dry your eyes and give you the time you need. That’s how my 6 year old self thought through things I suppose, and I was encouraged by that. Ah good memories.